


facts of life

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Because I hate reading about it just as much as you, But no animals are actually hurt, M/M, mention of animal abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:54:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22758112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: “It’s what you deserve – ”“Fucking hanging with Witchers – ”“I hope he finds you like this – ”And, somehow, that was what forced Jaskier back up on his knees and hands, coughing violently. He looked up, the corners of his mouth quirking up. If he was going to die, he was going to go out like a fucking hero, thank you very much.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 24
Kudos: 1220





	facts of life

**Author's Note:**

> for day 3 of geraskier week: protection
> 
> i decided to do smth a little different bc there are SO many fics of jas and ger protecting each other
> 
> warnings:  
> i put a warning for violence but it's fairly minor  
> there's mention of people intending to harm roach but they dont do it (bc jaskier's a champ)

Jaskier knew a few things about Geralt, all concrete facts:

1) He was an amazing fighter, unwavering in the face of danger. But everyone knew that.

2) He pretended to be selfish when really he was the most selfless person Jaskier had ever met. He was pretty sure he just didn’t want expectations to be set.

3) Also he really fucking loved apples for some reason. (Jaskier still didn’t understand it, but he respected it.) Besides it was kind of cute when they went to the market and Geralt’s eyes lit up, the tiniest bit, at the sight of fresh apples.

4) Most importantly, though, he loved Roach like she was his family. Jaskier had noticed it early on and was warmed by the sight of Geralt talking, hushed, to Roach and smiling briefly when she responded in snorts or headbutts. It was the first time Jaskier had realized, truly, how misunderstood Geralt was. He was no monster; he was a sweet man underneath all those… hard, dirty layers.

So that was why Jaskier was currently being beat up. Just by humans, at least, but they did have sticks. Most of them looked young and stupid, which explained a lot.

“Fucking _Witcher_ – ”

Jaskier shielded his face with his arms. One of the attackers – a young man, probably early 20s – grabbed him by his hair and slammed his face to the ground. Jaskier gasped out in pain and tasted copper. “ _Not_ the Witcher,” he said through the pain, not for the first time.

They knew he wasn’t Geralt, of course, based on the stories but it wasn’t like they’d been aiming for Geralt to begin with. They’d shown up after Geralt had left for a hunt and approached Roach, sticks held tight in their hands.

Jaskier had been left behind, as per usual, and had jumped up at the sight of them.

One of them had raised a stick, their intentions clear, and Jaskier had tackled him without a second thought. He wasn’t the best travel companion, he knew that, but he was not about to let some bastards attack Roach like _cowards_.

But of course Jaskier had forgotten he was a weak little human and frankly could not hold his own against a group of six, seven men, most of which were big and burly, obviously all brawn and no brains. The worst kind.

But at least he had gotten Roach untied during the fight, telling her to “fucking _run_.”

Sometimes he thought the horse actually understood English because she took off like a flash of lightning into the woods, hopefully to find Geralt. Because if she ran off and they never found her again, well, still a problem.

Anyway, long story short, Jaskier was currently in a lot of pain.

One of the men stomped on his hand and Jaskier hissed, eyes wide, because _absolutely not._ They could hit him in his face, kick him in his chest, but not his hands. Never his hands.

Jaskier looked up, fire in his red-rimmed eyes because okay, yes, he’d been crying –

“Cowards,” he spat.

One of the men kicked forward, his foot connecting with the side of Jaskier’s face – and fuck, Jaskier fell to the ground with a sob. His nose was running – no, it was _bleeding_ , he realized almost numbly. Fuck, these guys were going to kill him.

Over _Geralt_.

What a way to go, Jaskier thought, still numb, as he felt a foot connect with his ribs, knocking him back over. They laughed and taunted –

“It’s what you _deserve_ – ”

“Fucking hanging with _Witchers_ – ”

“I hope he finds you like this – ”

And, somehow, _that_ was what forced Jaskier back up on his knees and hands, coughing violently. He looked up, the corners of his mouth quirking up. If he was going to die, he was going to go out like a fucking _hero_ , thank you very much.

“Fuck _you_ ,” he said, perfectly even.

The man – the leader, he was pretty sure – lifted the stick in the air, nostrils flaring. “You little – ”

Jaskier saw the glint of Geralt’s sword, the sun catching on the silver, before he saw Geralt. “Do it,” he heard Geralt’s voice, both calm and somehow full of emotion, "I dare you." He pressed the tip of his sword against the side of the man’s neck. Jaskier still couldn’t see him from his spot on the ground. His fingers curled, digging into the dirt.

“Fuck,” one of the men whispered under his breath, dropping his stick and stumbling back.

Most of the other men scrambled back, too, their faces finally matching their cowardly ways, wide-eyed and brimming with fear at being caught. Jaskier lifted his head and finally got a look at Geralt. His heart did something funny in his chest.

He’d never seen such a calmly murderous look on his face. Jaskier tried to get up, but he was too weak. His fingers dug in the dirt again.

“Geralt,” he said, needing him to look at him. Geralt’s hand was trembling. Jaskier’s stomach lurched. “ _Geralt_ ,” he repeated desperately. “Look at me.”

Geralt finally looked down and his eyes softened, just barely – but Jaskier had gotten good at reading him. He breathed out, hard, through his nose and drew his sword back. Jaskier could see he was still trembling, his anger a tangible thing – Jaskier would’ve been warmed by it if he wasn’t afraid Geralt was going to kill humans, which he knew he didn’t like to do unless absolutely _necessary_ and yes, they were bastards – the lot of ‘em – but they hadn’t actually _killed_ him so –

“ _Geralt_ ,” he repeated softly, and the Witcher swung his sword around, slamming the hilt of it against the side of the leader’s head. He fell to the ground, limp, and the rest of the men ran off with their tail between their legs.

Jaskier got a sick satisfaction out of it. Geralt stepped over the fallen body and crouched down to help Jaskier to his feet. His legs wobbled and Geralt held him up for a second, staring at his face, eyes flickering from his red-rimmed eyes to his bloody nose to his cracked lips.

“I want to kill them,” he said without missing a beat.

Jaskier shouldn’t have been warmed by such violent words but, well, he wasn’t a good man.

He leaned his weight against Geralt, needing the support and knowing Geralt needed it, too, just for different reasons. Then, he remembered something important. He pulled back with wild eyes. “I – where is she?” he asked.

“Jaskier,” he heard, “Who?”

Jaskier looked at him like he was crazy. “Roach!”

“Oh,” Geralt placed a hand on Jaskier’s back, a comforting warmth. “She’s fine; she led me here.” He pointed, and Jaskier followed his finger. Roach was standing a few feet away. Jaskier laughed, once, flooded with relief. “What happened, Jaskier?” he asked, voice back to the usual gruffness.

Jaskier swallowed around the lump in his throat as he looked back at Geralt. “Can, uh, can we save that particular conversation for later?” he asked, running his tongue over his teeth. He still tasted copper; it was, frankly, disgusting.

Geralt blinked once before he nodded, eyes flashing with understanding. “Let’s get you back to the inn.”

Back at the inn, Geralt helped Jaskier to the bed and stepped back. “I’ll find the innkeeper,” he said once Jaskier was situated, wincing only slightly, “Have her draw you a bath.”

Jaskier smiled, soft and thankful, as Geralt left the room. Sighing, he looked out the window and thought of Roach. Well, not _exactly_ , he thought of Geralt’s reaction to finding her beaten or, Gods forbid, dead at the hands of some hateful bastards.

He would be devastated; he would pretend he wasn’t, but Jaskier would know better.

So, with a curt nod, he looked away. He’d done the right thing and he would do it again.

Geralt returned later and helped him to the washroom. Then, without even asking, he calmly helped Jaskier out of his clothes and in the tub. It should’ve been awkward, but it wasn’t. Nothing was ever awkward between them, not to Jaskier.

He sunk below the water and sighed, content, as the warmth soothed his aching bones.

“Should I – ” Geralt asked, nodding at the door. Well, it was just two curtains hung from the ceiling, not exactly a _door_ , but still. His expression was pinched, almost pensive, like he was afraid to go but wanted to respect Jaskier’s wishes.

Gods, he was such a good man – how did others not see that?

Jaskier smiled, small. “Stay,” he said.

Geralt nodded, a sharp jerky movement, and sat on the edge of the tub. Jaskier grabbed the soap and slowly began to wash himself off. He started with his body, wincing when he moved or turned the wrong way, before washing his hair.

Then – “Here,” Geralt said, gruff and almost uncertain, “Let me help.”

Jaskier was surprised but nodded without a second thought, handing him the soap. Geralt ran the soap between his hands a few times before setting it to the side, gently cupping the sides of Jaskier’s face. Jaskier was _not_ a good man – his cock made sure of it, twitching at the feeling of Geralt’s hands on his face, soft and soothing.

He promptly pushed his arousal down deep, burying it.

Geralt thumbed his cheeks, gently cleaning away the dirt and dried blood. He was especially careful around Jaskier’s nose, so thoughtful, and Jaskier’s heart fluttered with something sweet and all-consuming. He ignored that, too.

He was snapped out of his selfish thoughts by Geralt’s voice, “There, good as new.”

It was such a dorky thing to say that Jaskier grinned, big. “Thank you, dear Witcher,” he said with a playful wink. Geralt rolled his eyes, entirely fond because he loved Jaskier and he knew it, and stood up, helping Jaskier out of the tub.

His legs were still a little shaky, so he appreciated it.

Back at their room, Jaskier sat on the bed and Geralt paced the room, pretending to be busy, adjusting random things on the dresser, moving their bags around – “Geralt,” he said with mild amusement. “Could you _please_ sit down and just ask me what you want to ask?”

Geralt halted to a stop and turned on his heels, facing him. His expression was pinched again. “What happened earlier?” he asked. “And – ” his shoulders tensed, eyes flickering to the side “ – why did you stop me from killing them?”

Jaskier took a deep breath and scooted over. Geralt huffed and stomped over, joining him on the bed. Their shoulders brushed together as Jaskier said, “You’ve always said you don’t like getting involved with human affairs.”

“But that’s different,” he almost snarled, “They were _hurting you_ , Jaskier.”

Jaskier smiled, small, and nudged him, “Thank you for caring.”

“It’s not funny,” Geralt replied immediately, but some of the tension eased out of his shoulders. “I wanted to kill them. If you hadn’t stopped me, I – ”

Jaskier reached out, bravely, and took one of Geralt’s hands. Geralt surprisingly did not pull away. “I know,” he whispered, “And I know you would’ve regretted it.” Geralt opened his mouth, but he barreled on, “And I know you would’ve pretended you didn’t, but you can’t fool me, Geralt. I know you.”

Geralt pressed his lips together, tight, not arguing. That was an improvement. Finally though he asked, “But why were they attacking you to begin with?”

Jaskier debated what to say. He squeezed Geralt’s hand and – even more surprisingly, because _what the fuck_ – Geralt squeezed back lightly. “Let’s just say… they weren’t exactly your fans,” he said, slow. Geralt tensed and he could _see_ Geralt blaming himself in the lines of his face, “Geralt, don’t do that.” Geralt looked at him oddly. Before he could say anything, Jaskier elaborated, “That thing where you blame yourself for something that was frankly _not your fault_.”

“But they attacked you – ”

Jaskier shrugged, “Not exactly.”

Geralt pressed his lips together, staring expectantly at Jaskier.

“Right, well,” Jaskier cleared his throat, “They were aiming for, uh – for Roach.”

Geralt blinked, “ _Okay_ … Then how did you end up in the mix?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Jaskier asked, because _duh_ , “I tackled one of them when he tried to hit her.”

Geralt stared at him for a long, silent moment. Jaskier fidgeted nervously. “Why?” he asked eventually, and Jaskier was taken back.

“Shouldn’t you be saying _oh, wow, Jaskier, that’s so brave of you, thanks_?”

“Thank you, Jaskier,” he drawled, only half-sarcastic. Jaskier shrugged; good enough. “But why wouldn’t you run the other way?”

Jaskier opened his mouth, closed it. How could Geralt ask such a silly question? “You _adore_ your horses, Geralt,” he said like it was a simple fact of life, “I couldn’t just let some bastards attack her for no good reason.” Not to mention, he was pretty fond of all of Geralt’s horses himself (how did he always find the ones with the most sass? a talent, frankly).

A complicated mix of emotions flashed across Geralt’s face, one after the other. Jaskier wished he knew what he was thinking. “I do,” he said, “But it wouldn’t have been worth it if – ” Geralt cut himself off and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Next time just run, okay?”

Jaskier squeezed his hand, hard, “Can’t make any promises.” Honest as ever.

Geralt growled, eyes flashing with _something_ , “But you _have_ to!”

Jaskier startled, surprised by the outburst. He watched as Geralt swallowed, throat bobbing. “Geralt?” he asked softly. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t – I was trying to do the right thing.”

“I know,” he replied, shoulders slumping. “Just… put yourself first in situations like that, Jaskier. Always.”

Jaskier nodded quietly. He took a risk and turned his hand over, slotting their fingers together. Geralt didn’t pull away, but he did look down at their hands with something almost fond clouding his eyes. “I just wanted to protect Roach for you,” he mumbled, a quiet admission.

“I know,” he repeated, “But if I were made to choose between you and Roach, I’d always pick _you_ , Jaskier.”

Jaskier almost felt bad for Roach before remembering she was a literal horse and would never even know about this private conversation. Brushing his guilt off, he was left with an all-consuming giddiness. He nodded, biting his bottom lip. “I’m sorry for worrying you, Geralt.”

Geralt looked up, an odd quirk to his lips, like he was stuck between smiling and grimacing. “I’m sorry for not being there,” he said, gruff and rough with emotion, “I should’ve been.”

“You were on a hunt, Geralt,” he reminded him gently. “But I do think this proves something.”

Geralt tilted his head in that way he always did when he was thinking, confused about something. Jaskier wanted to tell him he was adorable – because he _was_ , okay – but he knew Geralt wouldn’t take kindly to his compliment.

“You mentioned training me,” Jaskier continued, “Like years ago and I brushed it off, but.” He squeezed Geralt’s hand. “You were right; I want to learn how to defend myself. I don’t always want to depend on you – ”

Geralt almost growled, “But you can.”

“But I can’t ask that of you,” he replied quickly, smiling softly. “So will you, teach me a few things?”

Geralt nodded without a missing a beat, eyes hard with determination. “We can start tomorrow,” he said, “I noticed someone selling daggers when I was at the market yesterday. That’d be better for you, considering you have smaller hands – ”

Jaskier laughed, interrupting him. “Thank you, Geralt,” he said, meaning it, “It’s a date, then.”

Geralt’s nose twitched at the terminology but he nodded anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> if u enjoy my stuff, follow me on my social media!
> 
> twitter: queermight  
> tumblr: korrmin


End file.
